He Never Thought
by I'mahighlyfunctioningfangirl
Summary: Just a short but not so sweet Sherlock One Shot


**GREETINGS ALL! WELCOME! So I figured I'd write something to kick off my new and improved fanfiction life. The following is a result of a depressing creative writing prompt and way too much Sherlock Fanfiction.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC and it's respective owners. Trust me, if I owned it Johnlock would be Cannon and I would be a very happy girl. **

He never thought it'd be like this.

Sherlock's always known he was going to die young, that the chances that gray hair would ever sneak into his dark locks was significantly lower than mosts. But he has always imagined something far more extraordinary for his end.

Perhaps he'd be blown to bits by a complicated bomb he found just a little too late. But then again, he wouldn't be at all surprised if a hole roughly the size of a bullet was carved through his head; the crafty work of an opponent just a little too clever. On his darker days, when drugs and experiments couldn't occupy his mind, Sherlock would even entertain the idea that he'd meet his end slow and painful by the hands of one he has managed to royally piss of.

But never once had it crossed his mind that he'd die at the hands of a stranger who wanted his wallet, his blood seeping onto the damp rocks with not a soul in sight.

Years ago he would have welcomed this moment with open arms and a small content smile; glad to finally stop thinking. He may have been slightly disdained by the methods and lack of dramatics, but happy enough with the ends.

But that was before his pudgy and annoying associate Mike Stanford brought to him an incredible man with a temporary limb. That was before he met the man who would change everything, and open his eyes to a little of what it meant to be human; to be alive.

That was all before John Watson.

He never thought he'd want to live when he faced the final enemy. Never had Sherlock supposed he'd be one to beg to keep on living.

He never thought it would be like this.

But then again he never thought he'd love someone, and ridiculously enough, have someone love him back. Let alone someone that is as good and kind as his John.

His John who is currently angry with him.

He'd left the flat angered, about what he doesn't quite remember now. Sherlock's fading quickly, his thoughts no longer clean but jumbled and in-concise. It was something about a particularly messy experiment of his, which lead to his not taking care of himself, which lead to a loud row between them that ended with him leaving the flat in a angered hast with his coat and scarf in hand.

Which inevitably lead to this…

Oh John.

The thought hits him like a ton of bricks. He's dying. He's going to die and John is going to blame himself.

He's never going to eat awful take out again, or see that special small smile John gives him when he thinks Sherlock is being particularly brilliant.

Never again is he going to hear John's voice say the three words he cherishes the most, 'I love you'

But the worst part is that John is going to blame himself for this, and Sherlock's not going to be around to wrap his long arms around John's sorter frame and tell him that it's not his fault. He's going to put John through this once again, but this time he's not going to miraculously appear in two years time.

The vibration of his phone pulls him from his frayed and uncoordinated thoughts. He'd forgotten he even had it, too consumed by the anguished thoughts of never again seeing John to even think of calling for help.

It was far too late anyhow, he'll be dead before ten minutes is up and even if they did manage to salvage his body the chances that his mind would still be intact after his body shutting down like it is now are impressively minuscule.

With shaky fingers he pulls out his phone. viewing the text message he's just received.

**I'm sorry. Please come home.**

He always did prefer to text anyway.

With his last reserve of energy he types a message and sends it just seconds before he tumbles into his final slumber.

**Don't be sorry. I love you.**

When they find him the following morning his stiff and bloody fingers are still clutching his phone, and they are unaware if he ever saw the final message sent to his phone.

**I love you too. Now get your arse home:)**

**So, that was that. What did you think? Please comment. Comments make me almost as excited as I was when Sherlock Season three came out. Anyways, Thanks for reading!**


End file.
